


Beyond Smoke and Smoldering Chrome

by Majure



Series: Vera verse [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: But you can think about the fact that its going to happen!! ;), Gen, Pre Relationship, im so tired of working on this its been WEEKS, its violent but i dont really think it warrants graphic depictions, song lyrics but only in the beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-26 16:17:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17749244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Majure/pseuds/Majure
Summary: Danse didn't believe in miracles. Or fate, for that matter.But maybe he has a change of heart when a shortspoken, rifle toting mercenary happens on the Cambridge police station just when she's needed.





	1. Miracles are Just Wishful Thinking

**Author's Note:**

> Upon a path of old primrose  
> Beyond the smoke and smoldering chrome  
> And the Pentagon and the fall of Rome  
> There lies a place I might call home  
> With a couple of sticks and a couple of stones  
> I’ll dig a pit and lay my bones

Early March, 2288

Danse didn’t believe in miracles. Or fate, for that matter. 

His whole life he’d been taught to trust in nothing but his own skills and his gun. When he’d joined the Brotherhood, it had taken him a long time to learn that he could count on his brothers and sisters in arms. Long years and hard fought battles had taught him to trust the people at his back. Recon Squad Gladius hadn’t been without its own problems when they’d first set off through the Commonwealth. 

Maybe they were used to the relatively calm environment of the Capital Wasteland. Most - if not all - of the super mutants had been killed or driven out, and feral ghouls were becoming less and less of an issue. The wasteland had been thriving since the success of Project Purity, which was maybe what ill prepared them for survival in the Commonwealth. Maybe all searches into the Commonwealth _were_ doomed to failure by some higher power. Recon Squad Artemis certainly didn’t have much luck. Danse didn’t believe in miracles or fate, but watching the last two members of Recon Squad Gladius fight for their lives against the hordes of ghouls, he thought that maybe God didn’t want them there. 

It had been an eerily calm night. Dark clouds had been gathered on the horizon all day. The air was sticky with humidity and the promise of rain. The overcast sky had muffled the world and made them lax. When Haylen had gone out to light the lamps after the sun went down, she’d seen the first of the ghouls nearby and had run in to tell Danse. He’d been confident about it at first and told her and Rhys to set mines at the perimeter. It wasn’t until the deafening explosion of three mines at once rocked the sleepy police station that Danse realized maybe there was more than met the eye. Far, far too many ghouls, it seemed like. 

The ghouls came in waves. Every hour or so, they would be back. It was easy the first few times, because all three of them were ready and waiting. But as the hours ticked by and nobody got any sleep, they got sloppy. Their supply of mines and fusion cells dwindled. Haylen was saving their last few stimpaks for the bad injuries. All of them were hastily bandaged somewhere on their bodies, all of them breathing heavily. 

Danse was terrified one of them was going to get taken down by one of the ghouls and not get back up. He’d had enough of those failures for one mission. As the pile of ghouls grew higher around them, tempting fate Danse didn’t believe in, his anxiety grew. It finally happened during one of the stronger waves. Danse was crouched down, reloading his rifle while Haylen and Rhys took point. His helmet readout beeped at him, shrilly notifying him that his fusion core was down to fifteen percent. _Why are there so many goddamn ghouls in this godforsaken city?_ Danse thought, standing. All of them were at the ends of their respective ropes, and it wasn’t looking like the ghouls would be slowing down any time soon. 

“Rhys!” he shouted. The knight ducked, hands fumbling for the fusion cells in his pockets. Rhys’ reload was quick and practiced, flawless as he and Haylen covered his back. Or at least it would have been, had a ghoul that was marginally quicker and smarter than the rest darted in low, barely dodging Haylen’s laser fire as it tackled Rhys down to the dirt. Haylen screamed. Dread gripped Danse’s heart as he watched Rhys struggle with the ghoul. He couldn’t shoot it - the chance he might hit Rhys was too high - so all he could do was make sure the other ghouls didn’t swarm him.

A rapid burst of laser fire finally came from Rhy’s rifle and the ghoul fell to the side, dead, but Rhys didn’t jump back up and keep firing. The front of his suit was shiny, wet with blood. Danse refused to let his voice shake when he shouted, “Haylen!”, but she was already moving. Grabbing the straps on Rhys’ uniform, Haylen heaved him up the steps to the police station with strength that belied her lithe form. Danse backed up to cover them. As soon as the wave had died down, Haylen turned and began treating Rhys. Rhys looked unnaturally pale and after one look at the wound in his gut, Danse turned his eyes to the scribe, pulling off his helmet.

“Will he live?” Danse demanded.

“I don’t know yet,” Haylen said. Her voice was carefully controlled. “Keep watch. I can’t fight with him like this.” 

Danse took the brief moment of calm to reload again. If his math was right, at the rate they were burning through their fusion cells, they’d have to make a trip up to Diamond City in the next few days. A groaning rattle and the shuffle of feet announced the presence of yet more ghouls. Danse and Haylen shared a glance between them before Danse put his helmet back on and began firing once again. It seemed to him in that moment that the last three members of Gladius were going to die here on the steps of the old police station to the knowledge and memory of no one, in the dark, alone. 

Which was why the crack of a nearby rifle was so startling. A ghoul slumped to the ground just in front of the steps, blood oozing out of the hole in it’s chest as it shuddered in it’s death throes. Danse stared at it, confused. Rhys was down, and none of them carried ballistic weapons anyway. A harsh bang echoed through the empty square and another ghoul fell to the streets. There was a shooter out there in the night. Danse didn’t believe in miracles, but goddamn if that didn’t seem like one. 

Danse felt rather than heard a bullet pass by his head. It zinged through the air, impacting the brick behind him so hard bits of mortar flaked off and burst against his back. He whipped around just in time to see a ghoul falter and trip, face going slack as it’s life bled away through the hole in his head. The wave seemed to have slowed for the moment and the single ghouls were easy pickings for the remaining members of Gladius and the mystery shooter hiding out in Cambridge.

Another bullet ripped through the air, catching a ghoul that was shambling up the steps of the station. It went sprawling across the stairs, blood splattering the already grimy concrete. Out of the darkness, a shape bolted forward and leapt snarling into the fray.

Danse almost shot the dog until he realized it was savaging the limbs of the ghouls. A spiked collar was tied around his neck, protecting him from the hands of the ghouls. Like a wave breaking, the ghouls once again began to pour into the police station from all sides. Drawn by the gunfire or light like moths to a flame, their shapes began to form at the edges of the shadows. At least now they had backup - even if it was only a dog and a single sniper. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. 

At least the sniper was confident. Too many times, Danse had met wastelanders and mercenaries who carried the rifle like a prop. They used it like a shotgun in more ways than one. It was a blunt object of intimidation instead of the precise weapon it ought to have been. This sniper had at least learned to use it properly - or had been taught with someone with an appreciation for the weapon. On several occasions, the dog tackled a ghoul to the ground where it writhed for a moment before a pinpoint shot zipped out of the darkness and killed the creature where it lay.

The shooter was constant enough that Danse could tell they were positioned down the street and a little to the right. An amateur move for a sniper to stay in the same place for so long, but he supposed that when fighting mindless hordes like feral ghouls, it didn't matter.

Then, as if by some ironic twist of fate, a shot went wild. A bullet pinged into the bricks at Danse’s feet, sending up a spray of debris. There was a shout in the distance. The dog, bloodied and snarling, looked up. A heavy pistol shot echoed across the square, then another. The ghouls immediately attacking had been dispatched, corpses lying still on the ground, soaking in their own tar like blood. Someone screamed; the dog barked, prancing nervously around the bloody square. A moment of stillness fell across the police station. Danse’s hands tightened around his rifle as he waited.

There was a shout in the distance; a heavy thud loud enough that he could hear it down the street. Footsteps pounded against the pavement as a figure came sprinting out of the night. Danse lifted his rifle, finger on the trigger until the split second that he realized the figure wasn’t running that haphazard wild run of a feral ghoul.

A woman came barreling out of the darkness at full tilt, wide eyed and panting. A rifle was slung loosely over one shoulder. A 10 mil was held limply her right hand, the other gripping her blood soaked right shoulder. Her eyes were wide enough that Danse could see the whites even at this distance. A moment later, he realized why.

Another horde of feral ghouls was shambling after her; she was outpacing them by inches only. Some of them loped along on all fours, others trailed along at a milder pace. The sound of their wretched snarling and gurgling filled the still air.

“Shoot them!” The stranger howled as she broke the perimeter. “What are you waiting for?” She didn't have to tell Danse twice.

As soon as she cleared him in a blur of motion, Danse lifted his rifle and began to fire. He didn't even bother with aiming; wherever he shot there were ghouls. A moment passed and he heard the steady crack of her 10 mil join in the hiss and pop of laser fire. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her whip around and fire at a ghoul - the gun clicked, hammer locking back.

“Shit!” She cried. Her left arm barely came up in time to block the ghoul as it tackled her to the ground. She writhed for a moment, trapped. Danse turned, preparing to help, when her shepherd leapt on top of the ghoul and dragged it off her, sinking his bared fangs into its throat. She scrambled up, chest heaving. A new scratch had appeared on her skin, bloodying her face, but it didn't look too deep. The dog seemed to be keeping close, protecting her from the ones that could take her down.

The distraction gave the woman a moment to shove the 10 mil into the waistband of her pants and draw another pistol from somewhere and keep firing. Her eyes were wide and frightened. From the rifle slung across her back, Danse would guess she was used to taking her targets out from a distance. To her credit, she didn’t back down. She kept firing into the crowd despite shooting with what was obviously her off hand. A lot of her shots took the ghouls in the limbs or torso, downing them just long enough for Danse’s laser fire to take them out permanently. 

Then, with one final burst of fire, it was over. The square fell still and silent, the air still crackling with adrenaline. It was broken by a pant as the stranger sat heavily on the ground in front of the police station, lying back across the steps. Her dog flopped down at her feet, all savagery gone as he weakly thumped his tail on the ground. 

Danse took a breath to steady himself, then forced his hands off the trigger of his rifle. He flicked the safety on as an afterthought before turning to the woman. Her eyes didn’t open as he approached, but judging by the wrinkle that appeared on her forehead she knew he was there. The dog growled warningly as Danse stepped close but otherwise didn’t move. 

Danse was exhausted, but this had to be done. She was a stranger. They had wounded. “We appreciate the help civilian, but what are you doing here?” 

The woman opened her eyes. She was still lying down, forcing Danse to lean awkwardly over the chestplate of his power armor. Her head tilted a little, the newsie cap on her head falling to the side. “Huh?” 

“Why are you here?” Danse said again, speaking slowly. 

“Just… trying to survive. Like anyone else.” Face twisting into a grimace, the woman forced herself into a sitting position. She ran a hand through her hair, streaking it with grime. She wasn’t wearing much in the way of armor. A dirty, patched up old blue trench coat over a leather jacket was really her only protection from the elements. The right shoulder of her coat was dark with blood; Danse could see it dripping from her fingertips. Her boots were muddy, so worn through from walking that they were duct taped together. Her guns didn’t seem to be in much better condition which probably explained why her gun had jammed in the middle of the fight. Even the least educated wastelander knew to take care of their guns if they wanted to stay alive. 

Danse’s eyes narrowed a little. “Are you from a local settlement?” 

“Not really,” the stranger answered evasively. Her eyes darted to the side as she forced herself onto her unsteady feet. The shepherd whined. “Listen, I’ll go if I’m not wanted. I was just passing through when I noticed you were in trouble.” 

“I apologize if I appear suspicious,” Danse said. The woman looked like she was about to fall over. At his words, she slumped back onto the steps. “We’ve been under fire ever since we arrived in the Commonwealth.” 

The stranger twisted around to look at Haylen and Rhys, who were still huddled on the steps as Haylen tended to Rhys’s wounds. “Who’s ‘we’?” 

Danse’s eyes narrowed in confusion. He’d assumed the Brotherhood emblem on the chest piece of his power armor was enough of a hint. The Brotherhood was well known - even in infamy, occasionally. And yet this wanderer had no idea who they were. “I’m Paladin Danse of the Brotherhood of Steel,” he said. “Over there is Scribe Haylen and Knight Rhys.” 

“Knight,” The stranger whispered to herself. She shook her head and held out a hand. The palm of her fingerless woolen glove was stained with blood. “Vera.” 

Danse stared at her outstretched hand. Handshakes were not common; a relic of pre war sensibilities. After a moment, Vera withdrew her hand and settled it on her bloody shoulder. Haylen looked up. “Sir, we should get Rhys inside.” 

“Of course.” 

The stranger - Vera - watched as Danse bent down to pick Rhys up to carry him into the police station. Haylen followed behind, pausing only to look at Vera. “You should come inside too,” she said. “I can take a look at that shoulder.” 

Vera glanced between the scribe and her dog. Sighing, she bent down and scrubbed a hand through her shepherd’s bloody fur. “Come on Dogmeat. Get up. Lets go inside.” Vera and the unluckily named Dogmeat followed them into the police station on weary feet. Danse set Rhys down on his bedroll by the wall while Haylen dug through her medical bag. There were dark imprints under her eyes; her hands trembled as she started pulling out needles and suture thread. Danse frowned. 

Disengaging his armor, he knelt down and began cleaning the wound. Haylen shot him a grateful look over the needle she was holding over a lighter flame. Rhys was worryingly pale as Haylen set to work. He didn’t even snap or whine as she began stitching him back together. Danse bit the inside of his mouth. 

“Do you think he’ll make it?” he asked quietly to avoid their guest overhearing. 

Haylen hitched a shoulder, eyes still fixed on her work. “Hard to say now. We’ll see what he’s like in the morning.” 

Danse ran a rough hand over his face. It wouldn’t do to distract Haylen while she was working, so he stood and turned Vera. She’d made her home in the corner by the front desk, the furthest place she could sit away from them while still watching the door. Her shepherd was lying at her feet, panting as she carded through his fur with one hand and worked on stitching up a scratch in his shoulder with one hand. Her voice had taken on a high pitched, funny quality while she talked. 

“You’re such a good boy. I’ll give you so many treats when we get back to Diamond City. I bet Nicky has a bone for you. You like Nicky, don’t you?” 

Dogmeat’s tail thumped as she talked. The stain of blood on her jacket had grown. Vera’s left hand shook while she struggled to tend to her dog. The stitchwork was only made more awkward by the PipBoy weighing down her left arm. Danse frowned. “You should take care of yourself, first,” he said. 

Vera looked up with wide eyes, face reddening at being caught making baby faces at her dog. “I can live with the pain for now,” she said after a moment. “Dogmeat needs help.” 

“Well you aren’t doing him any favors like that.” 

Vera’s face went a little stormy, but instead of arguing, she jerked her chin at where Haylen was finishing up with Rhys. “How’s your knight friend?” 

“Well taken care of, I assure you.” 

Haylen stood, scrubbing blood off her hands with an antiseptic wipe. “He’s right,” she said. To Danse, she added. “I think he’ll be fine. He woke up a little bit near the end and was talking gibberish. So, normal.” 

“Haylen.” Danse tipped his head to Vera. A flicker of embarrassment passed over Haylen’s face.

Turning to Vera, she said, “Should we get you stitched up?” 

Vera’s eyes flicked between them. She had used Danse’s distraction to finish taking care of her dog and was busy putting away her things one handed. “Sure.” Staggering to her feet, Vera reached up to pull the strap of her rifle up and over her head. As she was about to drop it, the strap snagged against her torn shoulder and her eyes went wide. A yell was bit back into a sharp intake of breath; Danse saw her injured hand clench into fist. Vera held the tableaux for a split second before she dropped the rifle on the ground and moved towards Haylen. 

Haylen’s tired eyes softened with pity. “Go ahead and sit,” she said to the wastelander. “I’ll get a clean needle for you.” 

Vera sat back down on the ground. Another miserable grimace of pain crossed her face. Danse moved to sit next to Rhys just to make sure the Knight didn’t stop breathing - and partly because while he wanted to keep an eye on Vera, he didn’t want to loom while Haylen did her work. 

Haylen began to tug on the collar of Vera’s coat. “It looks like the edges of the rip are stuck inside the wound,” she said. “It’s going to hurt taking it off.” 

“Whatever,” Vera said wearily, already slipping her good arm out of the sleeve. She fit the knuckle of her first finger between her teeth as Haylen grabbed the lapel of the coat. When she nodded, Haylen yanked the coat up and away from the swath of bloody flesh. Vera’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t cry out. The flannel under her coat followed the same procedure and with the tanktop under that, Haylen just cut. 

“That’s a nasty scratch,” she said, peeling the bloody tanktop away from the skin. Vera just grunted. She looked a little white in the face. “How’d that happen?” 

“Ghouls must have heard my shots and followed them,” Vera said. “Got tackled while I was looking through my scope.” 

Haylen doused the wound with antiseptic without warning. Vera hissed through her teeth, shooting a murderous glare in Haylen’s direction. Danse hid a smile. Talking was the best way to keep them distracted. “Dangerous business being a sniper without anyone to watch your back,” Haylen continued as through Vera wasn’t shooting daggers her direction. 

“I have Dogmeat,” Vera said cautiously, following Haylen’s hands with her eyes. “He’s enough for me when I’m not traveling through the city.” 

“Still.” Haylen, disinfected needle in hand, leaned forward to start stitching the wound closed. “If it were me, I’d want people with me.” 

“I seemed to do just fine,” Vera said shortly as Haylen began. “It was you who needed the saving.” 

Danse frowned. Nodding slowly, Haylen said, “I suppose you’re right.” 

She finished her work in silence. Vera’s face was carefully controlled, but even she couldn’t stop the occasional wince of pain. When Haylen was finished, she wrapped the wound in gauze and injected a stimpak. “Should be better by tomorrow. You’re lucky it wasn’t too deep.” 

Vera nodded and stood, grabbing her clothes. Shooting a glance at Haylen, she murmured, “Thanks.” 

Haylen smiled. “Of course. Thanks for saving us.” 

Vera’s face went a little red. Louder, she asked, “Is there a basement or a bathroom in this place? I need to wash off the blood.” 

“There’s a garage down the stairs to your left.” Haylen pointed to the hall. 

Vera muttered her thanks again and grabbed her bag off the floor. “Dogmeat, come.” 

Her shepherd stood and limped after her. Only once their footsteps faded and Danse heard the slam of the garage door did Haylen turn to him, one eyebrow raised. “What?” he asked. 

“Well?” 

“Well _what,_ Haylen?” 

Haylen rolled her eyes. “What do you think of her, obviously.” 

“I have no opinion,” he said automatically. “She seems like the typical dirty, ill mannered wastelander we always run into.” 

Haylen began putting her things back into her medical bag. “Sure, her manners are a little rough,” she said. “But do you think she could help us get it?” 

He raised his eyebrows. “The transmitter?” 

“Yeah.” 

Danse considered it. Vera seemed like a crack shot with her rifle, but her close combat could use work and the confined hallways of ArcJet weren’t exactly suited for sniping. He didn’t want to get shot in the back because Vera panicked. Still...they’d probably die if they stayed at the police station much longer. With Rhys out of commission for the time being, they needed that deep range transmitter as soon as they could get it. 

“I’ll think about it,” Danse finally decided. Vera didn’t seem the type to kill him and rob him, or else she would have just let the ghouls take care of them and then pick them off one by one in her sniper’s nest. Trusting her not to murder him wasn’t the issue. It was more that she seemed surly and quiet - too mercenary for him - and Danse wasn’t the type to unbend his pride enough to admit that - maybe - they needed hired help. 

Haylen shrugged. “I guess that’s all I can ask for.” Nodding towards Rhys’ sleeping form, she added, “But please think about it.” 

Danse nodded once. He motioned to the bedrolls. “You should get some rest. You’re dead on your feet.” Haylen opened her mouth to protest, but Danse said, “This isn’t a suggestion; this is an order from your CO. I can’t have one soldier down and the other exhausted.” 

Haylen’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Very well.” Pulling off her cap, she dropped it onto her back, then unbuckled her vest so she was just in the orange sweater. Curling up into a ball with her back to the light, she said, “Try not to fight with our guest too much.” 

“Of course not,” Danse said with a snort of a laugh. Haylen said nothing. Within minutes, her breathing had deepened. Danse sat for a minute listening to the breathing of his teammates, finger tapping on his elbow. He was half expecting Vera to come around the bend and leave right then and there, but their shortspoken guest had not made a reappearance. 

After about ten minutes passed, the storm that had been gathering all day finally broke. It was probably past midnight. Rain began to drum on the roof of the police station. At least the roof of the station wasn’t ragged with holes; a rain soaked camp was the last thing they needed. Sighing, Danse pushed himself away from the wall towards the little cook stove they’d set up in the middle of their bed rolls. The heat from the stove was a welcome buffer from the pervasive chill. While Danse didn’t have to be friendly with Vera, he could at least extend the first overtures of civility with her - and what better way to get a wastelander to like you than with hot food?

From their meagre supplies, Danse threw together a quick pot of soup. They didn’t have any salt, so it was probably bland, but the taste didn’t matter as long as it kept you from starvation. Rhys stirred, groaning as he rolled over onto his side. “Time ‘s ‘t?” he slurred.

“Little after midnight,” Danse guessed. Relief trickled through his body as Rhys sat up. Of course it was the smell of food that got him to stir. Leaning over, he let Rhys brace himself on Danse’s arm until he could sit mostly upright. 

Rhys squinted around the station. “Did we make it?” 

“Yes.” Danse looked over to where Vera had been sitting. Other than her rifle lying propped against the desk and a slowly drying puddle of blood, there was no evidence she had ever been there. “There was a sniper down the street who helped us kill the ferals.” 

Rhys followed his look. “And you let him in?” he asked, almost appalled. 

“She was injured,” Danse said. He dished up a bowl of soup and handed it to Rhys. “It wouldn’t have been right to kick her out after she helped us.” 

Rhys just grumbled into his bowl. He kept shooting suspicious glances at the rifle. Down the hall, a door slammed. Speak of the devil. Boots tramped on the stairs as Vera and Dogmeat came up and around the bend. She stopped in the doorway and stared. “You’re awake,” she said to Rhys, who scowled. 

Vera had shed her coat and leather jacket. The bandage on her shoulder was visibly bloody under the strap of her shirt, but she no longer looked like she was in danger of fainting. She was wearing a clean tank top with a faded Grognak graphic on the front instead of her ragged and blood stained t-shirt, but the shirt was soaked through, clinging to her frame like she’d just fished it out of a river. Vera scrubbed a hand through her hair, pushing the wet strands off her forehead. It stuck to the back of her neck, dripping more water onto the grimy floor of the station. All the blood had been washed off; as she came close to sit at the fire, the smell of Abraxo cleaner and rainwater clung to her skin. 

Dogmeat was similarly wet. He stood in the doorway dripping, only shaking himself once Vera had gone to sit at the fire. A clean red bandanna had been tied around his neck with the name ‘Dogmeat’ stitched into the hem. “You’re soaked,” Danse said as Vera settled across from him. Dogmeat came over, sniffed his hand, then flopped to the ground close enough that his wet fur began to soak through the leg of Danse’s flight suit. 

“I went out into the rain,” Vera said. She held her hands out to the flames. A ring around her thumb that Danse hadn’t noticed before glittered in the firelight. “Figured I’d take the chance to get really clean. 

“By yourself? Out in the night?” 

“Not by myself.” Vera nodded to Dogmeat who had stretched his tummy out to the fire. His head was resting on Danse’s knee and he kept shooting longing glances at Danse with his big brown eyes. “I had Dogmeat.” 

Rhys scoffed. “A dog was your backup? Paladin, please don’t tell me she was really the one who saved us.” 

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Vera said, eyes sharpening. Her marginally more jovial attitude disappeared. 

Danse quickly handed Vera a bowl of soup, hoping it would distract her enough that she wouldn’t pick a fight with Rhys. It did, but the slight was obviously not forgotten by the way her brows furrowed in anger. They ate in silence, only occasionally punctuated by Dogmeat’s whine. When Danse proved to be unsympathetic, he’d moved over to Rhys who had grudgingly given him a scratch behind the ears.

The both of them seemed mostly recovered from their injuries, though Vera still winced every once in a while when she moved wrong. Vera picked at her food. “I’ll be out of your hair by morning,” she said. “I’d hate to keep stepping on your toes, since you’re obviously doing just fine on your own.” 

“There’s no need for that,” Danse said, shooting a warning look at Rhys as he opened his mouth. “It doesn’t speak well of the Brotherhood to kick out the people who assist them. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.” 

Vera appraised him. “What is that?” she asked suddenly. “The Brotherhood. You keep talking about it, but I’ve never heard of them.” 

Rhys let out a measured breath as he dropped his bowl, then lay back down and jammed his pillow over his ears. Danse resisted shaking his head and turned to Vera. “The Brotherhood of Steel,” he said. When that returned no look of understanding or appreciative nod, he added, “Our mission is to protect the citizens of the wasteland and collect technology in order to prevent another disaster like the Great War.” 

She nodded to his power armor, standing silent watch in the corner. “And all of you have armor like that?” 

“Most,” Danse said. “Why?” 

Vera’s look was indecipherable. “Interesting,” was all she said. Offering no explanation, she set her bowl down. “If I’m not on a time limit, then I’m going to bed. Excuse me.” Grabbing her bag, she retreated back to her corner. Dogmeat jumped up, trotting after her as she kicked out a blanket a conspicuous ways away from the darkening stain of her blood on the floor. Using her bag as a pillow, Vera lay down with her back to him. Dogmeat curled up in the curve of her stomach, his head tucked between her chin. 

She did not go to sleep. Danse sighed. He turned off the stove. Little by little, the warmth of the fire seeped out the walls. Rain continued to pelt the roof and boarded up windows. Thunder rumbled a couple miles away, a distant promise of the moving storm. The only light came from a pair of lamps in opposite corners. Exhaustion crept in at the edges of his vision, but Danse refused to give in while he and his team bunked with a stranger. Hours ticked slowly by and eventually, Vera’s breathing deepened. Only then did Danse let his eyes close and he slipped into unconsciousness.


	2. Bite the Hand That Feeds You

Vera jolted awake with a low shout, body jackknifing as muscle memory kicked in to save her from the blade a raider had been wielding in her dream. Her muscles quivered, straining until reality kicked back into focus and she realized where she was. A beat passed before her eyes adjusted to the early morning darkness and she stopped seeing shadows flitting in the corners of her vision. She slumped limply back onto her blankets, staring at the moldering ceiling of the police station. Dogmeat had jolted up when Vera had bolted awake, and now he smothered her face in licks as Vera let the tension fall. Slowly, the adrenaline faded from her bones and old aches began to rise. The wound in her shoulder began to sting and she felt the particular sticky wetness of open stitches beneath the bandage.

It had been a long time since she’d had a dream like that - a few weeks, at least. The encounter had been one of her first while out in the Commonwealth and it had left her with a silvery scar across her bicep that still stung. Grimacing, Vera rubbed at her arm. She’d be sour and put off for the rest of the day, no doubt. Pushing Dogmeat away, Vera sat up, scraping her hair out of her face. 

It was dark in the station. Slits of grey light poked through boarded windows, cutting the space into black and white stripes. The few kerosene lamps in the corners had burned out during the night. With it, the meagre warmth provided slowly leaked into the air. All of them had slept divided - the Brotherhood in their corner, Vera and Dogmeat across from the front door, under the desk. The paladin was asleep against the far wall, chin resting against his chest as he breathed softly. The sour, square faced soldier whose name she didn’t know was also curled up asleep under a thermal blanket, shaved head tucked under his pillow. Vera almost missed the woman - Haylen? - sitting crosslegged by the cold electric camp stove in the center of the room, watching Vera with dark eyes. 

“Sleep well?” she asked, quietly as not to wake her companions. Her breath steamed in the air. 

The effort of translating words to English was far too much for Vera at the moment, so she settled for a hitch in her shoulder. Haylen continued speaking. 

“I’d offer you breakfast, but we don’t have a lot of food right now. Also, it’s five in the morning.” Vera hummed and grabbed her blanket to wrap around her shoulders. Haylen’s mouth curved into a smile. “Not feeling very talkative this morning?” 

Vera bit the inside of her cheek before saying carefully, “Just tired.” 

“I understand.” She picked at the sleeve of her orange sweater. “It’s been a long few months out here in the Commonwealth.” 

“Not local?” Vera asked. 

Haylen shook her head. “Came from the Capital Wasteland a few months ago.” 

“Why?” 

“Looking for things.” At Vera’s curious grunt, Haylen quirked her lips in a smile and added, “Anything we can get our hands on.” 

Haylen seemed to want to say something more. Her jaw tensed, finger tapping against the dirt caked fabric of her knee. 

Vera looked away. Her shoulder ached where the stitches were; the bandages needed to be changed, and Vera had always been paranoid about infection. Shrugging out of the blanket, Vera stood before Haylen could say whatever it was she wanted to get out. Dogmeat commandeered her still warm, now abandoned bedroll, tucking his nose into the fabric and rucking it up around his shoulders. “‘Scuse me,” she muttered, grabbing her bag and heading down to the garage.

It was freezing in the garage. Her coat and jacket still hung where she’d left them, only a little drier than when she’d scrubbed them clean of grime in the storm. Puddles of old rainwater condensed on the floor sporadically. It smelled like abraxo and wet concrete. Once the garage door banged shut behind her, Vera dropped her bag on a space free of puddles and began to rummage inside.

Her routine was specific. Water bottle first - it was half empty, she’d have to refill it soon - then the ancient mentats tin she’d scrubbed clean and wrapped in oilcloth to protect the cake of soap inside. Pulling her faded Grognak tank top over her head, Vera balled it up and shoved it into her bag. She peeled the bandage off next, wincing as it caught on the ragged edges of the wound. It wasn’t as bad as she expected. Definitely red, but not hot to the touch. It would definitely scar. Vera doused it in water from her water bottle anyway, dumping the rest over her head. 

The morning wash was her only ritual and that made it all the more important. She hated feeling dirty; hated smelling like sweat and blood. Paying an exorbitant amount of money for soap and detergent meant less than feeling a little bit more like a human being. Diamond city and Goodneighbor had hot, running water, sure, but Vera had to make do when she was days away from both. 

She usually saved her supplies for mornings, but last night had been a desperate situation. Covered in blood and gunpowder and on the verge of tears all night, Vera had relented and hid herself in the garage to scrub the grime off her skin. The rainstorm had been a blessing, even if it was freezing. The cold water did wonders to hide her tears and the thunder was louder than noise she might have made.

Once the soap had been rinsed away, a clean bandage pressed over the rip in her skin and her tank top resituated over her damp shoulders, Vera scrubbed her mouth out with toothpaste. Feeling marginally more human again, she began to methodically pack up her things. The clothes hanging from a light fixture were a different story. The leather jacket was mostly dry, so Vera slung that over her shoulders, but the woolen blue trench coat was still sodden. The sleeve dripped when she squeezed it. Vera slipped her fingers through the hole in the shoulder, wriggling them between the threads. A few more patches and her coat would be more thread than wool. Still. It was all she had. The wool would keep her warm, and the cold didn’t bother her as much as it once had anyway, so she pulled it on and belted it as well. 

Haylen had started the electric stove during Vera’s absence. Not a lot of warmth, but enough to chase away the chill in her fingers as Vera crouched next to it. Whatever Haylen had wanted to say seemed to have gone by the wayside, so neither of them spoke as they huddled next to the weak burner. Vera’s stomach growled. 

Haylen laughed quietly. “Sorry about breakfast.” 

“It’s fine.” The thin soup from last night had been enough at the time, but she was starving now. She didn’t have food either; there wasn’t much of a point when she spent most of her time in major settlements and could hunt what meat she needed while on the road. Hunting was probably a good idea, now that she thought about it. The clock on her PipBoy told her it was ten to six. Plenty of time to go hunt and return before anyone else was awake. Standing, Vera grabbed her rifle from where it was leaning against the counter. “I’m going to hunt,” she said to Haylen’s curious look. 

“Hunt what?”

Vera shrugged, hooking the strap of her rifle to her belt and slinging it over her shoulder. “Whatever I can find.” 

“Be safe,” Haylen called as Vera stepped out into the cold pre dawn grey. 

Vera paused. That was...surprisingly sentimental for someone to say, considering they’d only known each other for five or six hours. Vera said nothing, but she dipped her head in a nod before shutting the door quietly in her wake.

 

\---

Light from between the boards over the windows slanted across Danse’s eyes and he stirred, grimacing. An ache twinged in his neck as he shifted. Humidity from the rains clung to him like a second skin and the blanket someone had thrown over him while he was sleeping wasn’t helping. Wait. Sleeping?

Danse opened his eyes, sitting up with a start. The blanket fell off his chest; uncoordinated hands hit the floorboards as he braced his palms on the ground, ready to jump up. Everyone else was already awake, staring at him. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” he growled towards Rhys, who was the closest. 

Rhys raised his hands, eyes wide. He still looked a little pale. “Haylen said to let you sleep.” 

Danse turned his glare to Haylen, who was smiling genially at the stove as she cooked up a pan of fresh bacon. “Turnabout is fair play.” 

“Don’t do it again,” Danse warned. Guilt wormed through him as his eyes flicked to Vera, who was sitting against the wall a little ways behind Haylen. A mass of blue fabric was puddled in her lap; she held a needle in one hand to stitch up the gash in the thick wool. In the light of day, clean from grime and blood, she looked...surprisingly soft. Not at all like the impatient wastelander lit by lamplight and covered in dirt. Sitting hunched over the coat she was repairing, Danse could see that she was not a wiry thing, either. 

Dogmeat reached up to put his paw on her knee; Vera smiled indulgently, leaning down to ruffle him behind the ears and feed him a strip of meat from her plate. When her eyes met his, the smile fell. Sleeping on the job wasn’t like him. If Vera had been really dangerous, they might all be dead. 

Rhys handed him a cup of watery coffee. “Where did we get the meat?” Danse asked.

“I went out hunting,” Vera piped up. She straightened and stretched, back popping. “There isn’t much out here except molerats to the northeast.”

Danse only grunted in response as Haylen handed him a plate. “Don't mind him,” she said to Vera with a wink. “He’s always grumpy in the mornings.” 

He shot a look at Haylen. Haylen only smiled, tilting her head towards Vera. He furrowed his brows, shaking his head once. It was too early to ask. He needed more time to assess Vera. She was still dangerous. Haylen frowned, pursing her lips. Vera had been watching the exchange with sharp eyes, cocking her head when Danse looked back at her. 

“What’s going on?” she asked warily. 

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” Danse said. “Just a minor disagreement.” 

“That’s a nice PipBoy, you have, Vera,” Haylen continued on, ignoring Danse. “Are you from a vault?” 

Vera moved her left arm as though she could hide the PipBoy from view and make them forget they’d ever seen it. Her eyes turned hard. “Just something I picked up.” 

“It’s a rare find,” Danse conceded. Where was Haylen going with this? “Where did you get it?” 

“Does it matter?” Vera snapped. Her eyes widened a fraction as though she was surprised at her own harshness. In a quieter tone, she said, “Place is gone anyway.” 

“Probably stole it,” Rhys muttered. Vera bristled.

“It would be interesting if we could fit every Brotherhood soldier with one of those,” Danse mused. “Too bad it isn’t possible.” 

“You know what else would benefit the Brotherhood?” Haylen asked. Vera’s head turned. “A deep range transmitter.” 

Danse lowered his plate. “Haylen,” he warned, but the damage was done. 

“Deep range transmitter?” Vera repeated, curious. 

“Mm hmm!” 

“Why do you need one of those?” 

“To call for backup,” Rhys groused. “Our distress signal can’t reach the Capital Wasteland where the Prydwen is stationed, so we need to amplify the broadcast.” 

“Rhys!” Haylen exclaimed. “You _were_ listening!” 

Rhys’ face flushed. He stabbed at his food intently. Danse sighed and set his plate on the ground. Dogmeat’s ears perked up, but Vera’s fingers curled around his bandanna. “There’s a transmitter at the ArcJet laboratory about a mile up the road,” Danse said. “We haven’t had the opportunity or the man power to go get it.” 

“Until now,” Vera guessed.

“Until now,” he agreed. Leaning forward, Danse rested his elbows on his knees and said, “I’m not unaware that you’ve already done a lot for us. Here we are asking for more. I would be happy to compensate you with what we have here at the police station, but we can’t spare any caps. We don’t hire mercenaries.” 

“Good thing I’m not a merc,” Vera said. She eyed him perceptively. Rhys was scowling into his food, but he wasn’t vocally disagreeing. Haylen must have had a talk with him while Danse was asleep and Vera was out hunting. “I guess I owe you for not kicking me out on the curb.” 

“So you’ll accompany me?” 

Vera chewed on her lip. “Yes,” she finally decided. “But I need to get some things first.” 

“We don’t have the time for detours,” Danse said. “What do you need? We may have it here at the station.” 

“My things,” Vera said, chagrined. She seemed to be in a marginally more talkative, genial mood. “When the ghouls ambushed me, I had to make a quick getaway, so a lot of my things are still up in the building I was camped in.” 

“Of course,” Rhys complained. “Sir, I really have to disagree with this decision. If this wastelander kills you, then what are Haylen and I supposed to do?” 

“Good thing this mission doesn’t hinge on your opinion, Rhys.” 

Rhys’ jaw clenched and he looked away to avoid Danse’s stormy glare. Vera’s little smirk vanished when Danse turned his gaze on her. “I’ll accompany you down into Cambridge, but I’ll only give you five minutes to get what you need before I leave.”

“Fair enough.”

“We’ll leave in fifteen minutes. Prepare yourself.” 

Vera stood. Whirling her coat around, she settled it over her shoulders and picked up her rifle. “I’m ready. I’ll wait for you outside.”

Danse waited until the door closed to turn to his teammates. “You are both out of line,” he snapped. “We may be down to three, but I still expect you both to act like proper Brotherhood soldiers and that means obeying orders and not giving away privileged information to wastelanders. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir,” they both said, eyes cast to the floor.

Danse grabbed his bag and moved towards the stairs. “Behave while I’m gone,” he said, then stomped up the stairs to the roof. It was brisk outside, but the air was clear and clean. The smell of rain and fresh earth filled the air. It was enough to wake him up. Even if it wasn’t, the bottle of water he dumped over his head certainly was.

He scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair, sighing as he scraped through the stubble which was quickly growing out into a true beard. The months in the wasteland had been hard, but that didn’t excuse looking like a common farmer. After rinsing out his mouth, Danse simply took a moment to lean on the edge of the roof and breathe. Haylen had forced his hand with Vera, but that may not have been a bad thing. They needed that transmitter; it was probably worth the risk to take Vera along with him. 

From his position on the roof, Danse could hear Vera talking to Dogmeat, but he couldn’t make out what she was saying. He couldn’t make heads or tails of that woman. She was as much an enigma to him as he imagined he was to her. One minute she was happy and smiling softly, and the next she was guarded and suspicious. Growing up in the wasteland usually turned people into the latter - quiet, tight lipped mercs who’d shoot you as soon as look at you. 

He had yet to see what it was like traveling with Vera. One way or another, it would be interesting. Lifting his head, Danse grabbed his things and headed back in. Rhys and Haylen were studiously arranging their camp and cleaning their weapons. Danse felt a little bad for reprimanding them as he picked up his hood. 

“Be safe out there,” Haylen said as he slipped the hood over his head and engaged his power armor. 

Danse stepped in, once again feeling secure as the shell closed around him. Rhys tossed him his helmet and Danse flipped it up onto his head. “I always am,” he said, grabbing Righteous Authority. “Hold down the fort. Don’t get into any trouble.” 

Vera was waiting for him outside, rifle slung over her shoulder. “Ready?” he asked. 

“Let’s go.” 

“Outstanding.” 

The two of them set off down the street. Vera took point, hand resting on the stock of her weapon. Cambridge was quiet as they walked. Danse’s footsteps seemed over loud as they walked. He gripped his rifle tightly, eyes scanning the streets. No ghouls rushed out of the shadows towards them, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. 

Vera walked easily, tattered boots barely making any noise on the pavement. She didn’t seem bothered by her injury like she had last night. The bloodstain had been washed out of her coat, but it was still a darkened blue on the shoulder. “Has your shoulder healed sufficiently?” 

Vera looked up at him, one eyebrow quirking. Her lips twitched. “It’s fine,” she said. “I’ve had worse.” 

Danse looked her up and down, taking in her tattered clothes. “I don’t doubt it.” 

Vera looked like she was about to say something as they rounded a bend. It was forgotten as her footsteps quickened, startling Danse - she was just hurrying over to one of the buildings on the side of the road. “It’s this one,” she said, dropping her bag on the ground. It looked visually no different than the rest of the buildings. The bottom floors were all boarded up. Around it, the other buildings were connected by walkways on the roofs, but this one stood as an abandoned island in the middle of it all. 

“Are there still ghouls in there?” Danse asked. 

“Probably,” Vera said, lying her rifle on the ground and loosening her 10 mil in the holster on her belt. 

“What are you doing?” 

Vera pointed at the boarded windows. “The windows are blocked. I have to climb up.” 

He reached out, grabbing her by the collar of her blue coat as she took a confident stride forward, halting her midstep. The look she shot him over the curve of her shoulder was affronted and incredulous. Reaching up, she smacked his gauntleted hand with the ineffectual flat of her palm. 

“Let me go,” she said, more irritated than truly angry.

“That doesn’t seem wise,” Danse said, but he released her collar. Vera shrugged her shoulders to resettle her coat. Her eyes were sharp. “I don’t feel comfortable sending you into a building that we know is infested with ghouls, alone.” He nodded towards Dogmeat, who wagged his tail at the sound of his name. “You won’t even have your dog.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Vera said with that offended certainty characteristic of wastelanders. There was no arguing with them when they got that way. When she took another step towards the building, Danse didn’t try and stop her. The best he could do was support her if she came tumbling out of the window like he suspected she had last night. Vera’s boots scuffed the pavement as she stepped towards a barrel lying next to the building. Danse rolled his eyes in the anonymous safety of his helmet as he watched her right the barrel and hop up on top. It wobbled under her weight.

Careless of the footing, Vera reached up and grabbed the lip of the awning, jumping and heaving herself gracelessly on top of the awning. Danse sighed, adjusting his grip on his rifle. The city still put him on edge; he wanted to be finished with this mission already. Up on the awning, Vera was using window sills to climb further up the building. Danse couldn’t see anything moving inside the building, but watching Vera scrabble at the boards as she hauled herself up and over the sill, dropping into the uppermost floor of the building was nerve wracking.

Dogmeat wagged his tail placidly. Danse raised his rifle, prepared for Vera to come tumbling out of the window, followed by swarms of ferals. There was nothing. Not even a whisper of motion beyond the stirring of grass in the wind. Danse jumped as a green duffle bag came sailing out of the window, clipping the edge of the awning and tumbling to the dusty ground. A moment later, Vera slipped her leg out onto the sill and ducked out. 

There was an ammo can clipped to her belt, bumping into her legs as she clambered down. At least she had enough sense not to throw _that_ out of the window. When Vera’s ratty boots hit the dirt next to her bag, she shot him a look Danse would have called smug. “I told you I’d be fine,” she said, slinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder. Dogmeat stepped aside to let her retrieve her rifle. 

“Were there any ghouls?”

“Three - I killed them.” 

He frowned. “I didn’t hear any gunshots.” 

Patting the side of her coat where she no doubt had her gun concealed, Vera said, “Silenced 10 mil. Best thing I ever invested in.” 

Rolling his shoulders, Danse asked, “Do you have what you need?”

Vera nodded once. Danse took the lead, taking them back past the police station and up around the bend towards ArcJet. He briefed her as they walked. “ArcJet is a short hike to the west. It was an old engine testing facility back in the days before the war.” Vera hummed, not seeming particularly interested in what he was saying. Her eyes were distant, searching the rise of a hill they were coming around. Danse shot her a look, but it was lost behind the expressionless eyes of his helmet. “You should prepare yourself to fight,” he said. “We don’t know what might be in there.” 

“I’m prepared,” she said. “Just not particularly worried.” 

“That attitude will get you killed.” 

Vera’s mouth quirked up in the first smile Danse had seen aimed at something other than Dogmeat. “It hasn’t so far.” 

Danse bit back a remark. It wouldn’t be appropriate to reprimand a civilian who wasn’t under his command, no matter how much he wanted to. Instead, he took two long strides forward until he was stomping ahead of her. Vera whistled and a second later, Dogmeat was trotting at his side, tail wagging. When he glanced over his shoulder at her, Vera just smiled and shrugged. Her rifle was held loosely in her hands, finger tapping on the trigger guard as if daring him to imply she was unprepared again. He huffed and looked forward.

The walk was mostly uneventful. Frost had crept over the ground during the night, freezing the world after last night’s rain. Danse wasn’t a fan of how their footprints made an easy trail to follow, but they were going slow enough as it was and he didn’t want to stop and cover it. With any luck, they’d be back at the police station with the deep range transmitter before noon, after all the frost had melted.

Dogmeat was a cheerful companion, tail wagging and smiling a toothy, doggy smile as they walked. A couple of times he went haring off into the brush off the side of the road only to return with bloodied jaws or dragging the body of a molerat behind him. When Dogmeat stiffened, up, the hair on his hackles raising as a snarl twisted his muzzle, Danse stopped too. He lifted his rifle, staring down the empty stretch of road. Sure enough, the sound of gunfire reached them.

“Raiders,” Danse guessed, flicking the safety off his rifle. “Stay behind me; my armor should deflect their bullets if they start shooting.” He turned to look at Vera, who was silent. She wasn’t there. Danse’s eyes widened. He cursed quietly, spinning back around. Dogmeat looked up at him, fur still raised. Danse doubted the dog would be so calm if his master had been taken or fell behind, so she must have been close by, but where?

The pop of gunfire was growing louder. Gritting his teeth, Danse charged forward. Dogmeat pelted along at his side, snarling. There was a shout as Danse rounded the bend. Raiders. A caravan. One of the merchants was already lying dead on the road. The raiders were huddled behind the rusted shells of cars while the remaining merchant was hiding in the grass. Nothing he wasn’t used to, but Danse had been thrown off by Vera just up and disappearing.

A scattering of laser fire scorched the dust next to his feet as one of the raiders fired at him. Dogmeat leapt forward, grabbing the raider by the arm and yanking him down. The caravan guard he’d been fighting with dashed off, huddling behind the cart overturned on the side of the road. A few well placed shots from his laser rifle dispatched the raider Dogmeat was biting; once he was down, the dog went bounding off to the next. 

Bullets pinged into the armor over his thigh, ricocheting into the cracked asphalt. Danse took a knee, bracing the butt of his rifle into his shoulder. Dogmeat jumped to grab the arm of the next raider and drag him down, but the raider hiked a shoulder, lashing out with a booted foot. Dogmeat whimpered, stumbling back to the ground. Up top on the hill overlooking the overpass, Danse heard the familiar bang-clatter of a bolt action rifle. The raider that had just kicked Dogmeat slumped forward onto the door of the car, blood leaking from a hole in his neck. 

Panicked, the last raider dropped his rifle and started to run. The caravan guard popped up from behind the cart and took him down with a pair of well placed shots. The air fell still. Danse stood up, only barely remembering to flick the safety on his rifle. Rocks came clattering down the hillside as Vera slipped and slid down the slope, rifle slung across her shoulder. Dust caked the front of her clothes where Danse guessed she’d been lying in the dry grass. 

“I thought we handled that well,” Vera said as though she hadn’t just appeared out of nowhere. Dogmeat trotted up, seemingly have shaken off his pain.

“Where did you go?” Danse snapped.

Her brows creased, affronted. “I went to go find somewhere to snipe,” she said. “Which I did. Successfully.”

“I thought you had abandoned the mission,” Danse said. “What even possessed you to run off?”

“Do you really doubt me that much?” Vera asked. “Or do you just not trust me?”

“Of course I don’t trust you,” Danse said, but there was no bite to his words. “I doubt you trust me, either.” 

She inclined her head at that, expression cooling. “Fair enough,” Vera said. “I’ll be sure to let you know next time I… run off.” 

“I’ll know to expect it,” Danse told her, then turned and began to walk down the road. The caravan guard and the merchant had righted their cart and dragged the bodies off the road. Another guard had come out of nowhere, clutching a bleeding wound in his gut. The guard said nothing, but she nodded to Danse in thanks as he passed. Vera paused next to her. They exchanged a few quiet words and something passed between their hands. The merchant touched Vera’s arm gratefully before she was hurrying up towards Danse.

“Gave them a stimpak,” she grumbled to his impassive faceplate.

They continued on in silence, encountering no further resistance the rest of the fifteen minute walk towards ArcJet. At the ancient, rusted doors, Danse took a moment to reload his rifle and check over his gear. Vera adjusted her rifle and pulled out a little 10 mil from a holster inside her coat. “I don’t know what to expect in there,” he told her. “Just try to stick close.” 

“Yes sir,” she said, and Danse didn’t have to read too far into it to hear her sarcasm. He just sighed. Wedging the fingers of his gauntlet in the groove between the doors, Danse heaved them open. Rusted hinges squealed, complaining about having to move after two centuries of rest. He jerked his head towards the dark space inside and Vera ducked under his arm. Dogmeat stilled by the doors, tail wagging hesitantly, then sat down. Danse shrugged and followed, letting the doors bang shut behind him.

It was almost pitch black inside. Light crept in from a sliver of open shutters in one window on the far wall. Sickly green light washed over the darkness as Vera flipped on her PipBoy flashlight. It made her look ghastly, highlighting the sharp angles of her jaw and cheekbones from below; her eyes were hidden in pools of shadow like the empty eye sockets of a skull. Danse flipped on his own headlamp and Vera squinted into the light, blinking.

“Jesus,” she muttered.

“Sorry,” Danse said, moving forward. The spotlight swept over papers and cabinets spread in disarray over the dusty floor of ArcJet. Other than long decayed skeletons and the thick layer of dust, ArcJet looked like it hadn’t been disturbed since the Great War. It had likely already been picked through by desperate scavengers, but there was always something to find. Hopefully no one had grabbed the transmitter.

“Keep an eye out for anything,” Danse said. Vera had come up behind him, pistol raised. Her footsteps seemed intentionally loud as she moved across scattered paper and broken furniture. 

To her credit, she did let him take the lead and didn’t vanish into the depths of ArcJet like she had promised. The neon green of her flashlight swept the rubble only a few seconds behind his headlamp. When she did slip away, she made sure her footsteps scraped across as much of the floor as possible.

Vera disappeared down a hallway, ducking under the fallen strut of a ceiling support. “Hey,” she called a few seconds later. Her head poked out of the doorway as he looked up. “You should come see this.”

Danse followed as she vanished behind the wall again. Ducking under the same such strut - and almost whacking his helmet in the process - Danse found Vera standing in the center of what looked like a small security room. Charred, bent pieces of metal surrounded her, the remains of what had been security protectrons. Vera kicked a laser-burned plate of metal. It clanged against her boot, skittering into the darkness not illuminated by their light. Danse winced inside his helmet.

“Guess we missed the party.”

“No,” Danse said, staring at the hunks of beaten steel. The metallic scent of ozone was thick in the air. “There’s no blood or ammunition cases.” Vera glanced at him, one eyebrow raised, the _so?_ Written plain across her face. 

“We aren’t alone in here. This is the work of Institute Synths.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! 
> 
> stop by my blog at fanthings if you want to talk. 
> 
> as always, im open to criticism. if youre interested in beta-ing, shoot me a message on tumblr.


	3. When There's Smoke, There's Fire

Vera was markedly less concerned than Danse thought she would be. “What about it?” 

“You aren’t concerned?” he asked. Wastelanders - especially Commonwealth wastelanders - harbored hate for the Institute and their synths. No one he’d met had ever just raised an eyebrow and said, “So?”

“Should I be? I’ve seen them before. They’re just metal skeletons.”

“Extremely difficult to kill metal skeletons,” Danse pointed out. “We should be on our guard.”

Vera touched the brim of her cap in a nonchalant, two fingered salute. She let Danse take point. They moved off, weaving through the darkened corridors. The only room not blocked off by rubble or locked up tight was a dusty, ransacked lab. It was brightly lit in flickering, buzzing fluorescents. Vera clicked off her flashlight, wandering over to the computers lining the wall. The layer of dust coating everything in ArcJet had been disturbed by the far wall. As Danse moved forward, he could see the shape of a door panel, dusted clean. Pressing a hand against the dirty window to the left of the door, Danse tried to scrape the dust off and peer through. It was too grimy to make anything out. “This area has been recently disturbed,” he said.

“Funny you should mention.” Vera was standing on the platform in front of the computer bank. “These terminals are already booted up. It takes a while for them to shut back off on their own; whoever used them last came through about an hour ago.” 

She bent down and began typing at the console, brow furrowed. Danse looked back at the door. It was sealed with a maglock; no way would he be able to pry this one open. “Can you get this door open?”

“Let’s find out,” she muttered, hitting a button. With the shriek of rusted metal, the doors slid open, grinding on disused rails. Motion activated lights flickered on in the next room, fluorescents buzzing. Vera’s face lit up. She turned her smile to him. “Guess I have my uses,” she said.

Danse was about to reply when Vera’s eyes went wide. She ducked behind the desk as a streak of blue light whizzed through the doors and hit the terminal where Vera had just been standing. A second shot came through, nailing Danse in the chest and making his HUD beep in distress. Danse ducked to the side, snapping his rifle up and firing at the synths as they began to pour through the opening. The first through took a laser to the chest and fell, internal wiring smoking as it melted.

The second was taken with a shot to the head; Vera had gotten to one knee and started shooting. It seemed that her expertise with the rifle did not carry over to her handgun. When her magazine was empty - many new bullet holes added to the wall - she dropped back beneath the desk. One of them took a step her way. Danse raised his rifle to fire when a baton came down hard over his hands. He hissed as the electrical zing of a shock baton fired through the gauntlets of his armor. Righteous Authority fell to the ground. His HUD fizzed, crackling from the interference.

Grabbing the metal wrist of the synth, Danse snapped it up and away from him. It’s mechanical voice declared system failure, jaw unmoving as Danse reached through it’s ribcage to grab it’s internal processor and yank it out. Oil and coolant splattered the ground as the yellow light in it’s eyes faded. Shaking the skeleton off his arm, Danse turned towards the final synth. 

Vera had shimmied out from under the desk and kicked it back with both booted feet, trapping the synth between the desk and the railing. It had dropped it’s rifle and was flailing against the desk to reach it. Vera had both hands shoved against the desk, keeping it stuck. Jerking her head at the synth, Vera hissed, “Kill it!” 

Danse scooped up Righteous Authority and dispatched the synth with a well placed burst of fire. Acrid smoke from burning rubber and wires drifted up from the two synths Danse had shot and oil from the third was spilling across the concrete floor. Vera straightened, shaking out her hands.

“Could’ve gone worse,” she muttered. 

“I thought you said you’d faced these things before?” His tone was slightly accusing.

Vera’s eyebrows furrowed. “Yeah, in a group. I wasn’t being sarcastic when I said it could have been worse.” 

_God, she’s impossible._ “Let’s keep moving. I don’t want to be here any longer than we have to.” 

Vera didn’t argue. They set off again down the trashed hallway. Danse kept his rifle up and ready for oncoming synths. There wasn’t much in the next room, just trash and dust. The doors had all been barricaded off. The only way forward was through a hole in the wall, leading into a concrete maintenance tunnel. Vera stayed behind him, occasionally peeking out from behind his shoulder. Her 10 mil was gripped in one hand, the other twisted in the strap of her rifle sling. 

“That’s not foreboding at all.” Vera popped her head out from behind Danse to look down the tunnel, lit up red with emergency tracklights.

Danse agreed. “Stay behind me,” he said. “We’re going to be railroaded along this tunnel, so they probably won’t come from behind. My armor can take a beating, so just use me for cover.”

It was good that Danse insisted on taking the lead, because the second he stepped into the tunnel, blue light was streaking towards him from the other end. One of the bolts hit him in the helmet, making his HUD flash red with warnings. He grunted, throwing up an arm to protect his face, advancing with only one hand on his rifle. Vera’s little 10 mil fired, a background noise compared the sound of laser fire. Danse had to resist every urge telling him to charge forward; if he left Vera undefended, she’d probably die and Danse would be left with no fire support. 

The hail of laser fire halted as Vera finished killing the synths. Danse put his arm down. She was hurriedly reloading, hands quick but shaking. Her lips were pressed into a grim line, usual lightheartedness gone. The tunnel hadn’t been very long, but the room in front of them was open, lacking in cover. Movement flickered inside - more synths, probably. Danse reloaded Righteous Authority. Turning to Vera he said, “Stay here and take cover.”

Ignoring the warnings beeping on his HUD, Danse moved forward. The synths met him head on. He took care of the ones on the balcony first and their plastic bodies crumbled, falling over the edge. The crack of a rifle startled him; looking over his shoulder, he spotted Vera kneeling on the ground, rifle lifted to her eyes as she pulled the trigger, reloaded, and fired with cold efficiency. Danse found himself smiling behind his helmet. Maybe she wasn’t as hopeless as she appeared. 

Vera swiveled his way, firing at a synth coming up behind him; Danse nodded his thanks and stomped towards the ramp that led to the upper floor. Blue lasers flew past his head - Righteous Authority was out of cells and he didn’t have time to reload. Danse intercepted the synth at the top, not slowing down as he crested the ridge and slammed the synth between the pauldron on his shoulder and the steel frame of a door. The frame bent inwards at the impact; Danse shoved off and ducked into the room with Vera close behind. She was looking at the crushed skeleton, lips slightly parted.

“Wow.” 

Danse rolled his shoulder. “You learn to make do with your armor,” he said, ducking behind the door and reloading as synths continued to fire. Vera shook herself and crouched behind an overturned cart, firing down the hallway to keep the synths down until Danse was ready. The laser fire stilled with a final shot from Vera; she ducked down and reloaded, kicking away brass casings.

Danse leaned out into the hallway. Synth bodies littered the floor, smoking or leaking oil onto the tile. Vera seemed to have killed the rest of them, so Danse stood and moved across the hall to the adjacent door. A section of the floor had been blown out, conveniently leading down into the lower level. He and Vera slid down it, landing on the trashed floor below.

A short staircase led them up into an office. Through the grimy glass, Danse could see the empty hallway. One sign, worn and rusted with age, proclaimed ‘Jet Engine Testing Facility’ with an arrow pointing down the hall. Something was whirring and beeping, just out of sight. Vera frowned.

“Is that a synth?” she asked softly.

“Automated security,” Danse guessed. “Probably turrets.”

“I can take care of those.” Vera began to sneak off, but Danse grabbed her arm. They were probably machine gun turrets and her layers wouldn’t do much to stop a bullet; Danse was about to say so when Vera looked at his hand, then at his helmeted face. Poking his chestplate, Vera said, “Your armor is looking a little bit worse for wear. You already know that I’m quiet. There’s no need to be a bullet sponge right now.”

“Fair enough,” Danse said, and let her go.

Vera moved off, stepping silently through the debris. He could see her through the window as she took up a position to the right of the beeping turrets. Her rifle came up, fired, came right back down and she was moving off again. She made short work of the turrets and returned, an easy smile on her face.

“Good work,” Danse said, grudgingly impressed as they passed the remains of the laser turrets. He forced open the door at the end of the hall and Vera shimmied between the bulk of his armor and the doorframe. It was pitch black inside the hallway as the door banged shut behind them. Danse turned his headlamp back on and took the lead. “The engine core should be just ahead,” he said. “But the power seems to be off in this section.” 

“Guess the synths didn’t get here first,” Vera said, picking her way through the trash. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Danse murmured as they came to an open, unbarred door. He flicked his headlamp off, staring up at the engine stretching a hundred feet or more into the ceiling. “Look at this place,” he said, allowing a little bit of awe to slip into his voice. “The scribes would have a field day in here.”

Vera did not appear to be all that interested in this untouched hoard of pre war technology. Her boots were clanging on the metal walkway as she headed for the elevator, mashing the call button. “Elevators are dead,” she said, heading for the stairs when the elevator wasn’t forthcoming. “But the lights are on.”

Danse pulled himself away from the edge and joined her heading down the stairs. “Power must have been diverted,” he said. “We’ll just have to keep heading down for now.” 

The chamber below the jet engine was a square of charred black concrete. Danse’s boots crunched on the ground. Vera scraped a hand over the wall, glove and skin coming away stained black with ash. They glanced at each other. “There’s probably a way to get auxiliary power back online,” Danse said. “Go scout the maintenance tunnels and see what you can find. I’ll stay here and watch our backs.” 

Vera moved off, scrubbing her hand clean on her coat. A moment later, she reappeared through the window, tapping away at the computer. Danse shifted uncomfortably in his armor and took up a position in the center of the room to wait. 

\---

A robotic voice hummed in the darkness, rattling off status of power and auxiliary failure. Vera turned away from the window where she could see the paladin patrolling. In his power armor, there was no way to tell what he was thinking. He seemed to be alright, even if his armor was a little worse for wear. Vera didn’t know him well enough to say for sure. 

Flicking her flashlight on, Vera shined it into the darkness. A pipe was bolted to the wall, leading from console in front of the window. Vera followed it with her flashlight, stopping when the wires vanished into a pitch black doorway. She grimaced. As she stepped through the door, Vera wished Dogmeat had elected to come with her into ArcJet. Something about going into the dark alone was just unnerving. 

A bank of generators lined on wall, dark and silent. Wires were strung across them, the pipe she’d followed branching off between the two of them. Green light from her flashlight shone across the dusty surface of a terminal. Vera pulled her cuff up over the heel of her hand, scrubbing the screen free of dust. It took a long while for the terminal to boot up as centuries old circuits and wiring fired. The available power must have just been enough to power the terminal.

It didn’t take Vera long to break through their security. A few moments later, the generators clunked and hummed as they started up. Vera smiled, turning around as the lights blinked on inside the maintenance tunnel. The robotic voice of the mainframe said, “Power restored. Awaiting your command.” 

Of course, that was when the shooting started. Vera bolted from the generator room, flying to the glass just in time to watch an untold number of synths drop from the balcony into the testing chamber, right on top of Danse. 

“Oh, no,” she gasped, hands pressing against the glass. Danse was quickly backed into a corner, swarmed by the horde of synths. The only way Vera could tell he wasn’t already dead was by the flash of red light from his rifle. There was no way he’d make it out, not even with her help - she’d be overwhelmed just as easily as him. 

Vera glanced down at the console. The single, blinking red button sitting innocently under a glass case. “Oh, shit,” she sighed, then flipped up the case and punched the button. 

“Command accepted. Commencing five second countdown. One-”

Vera didn’t stay to hear the rest.

\---

This mission had very quickly taken a turn for the worse. Danse didn’t know where the synths had come from; all he knew that it was taking everything in him not to drop to one knee. His armor was battered; the HUD flashed red, letting him know that the plates on the frame were in urgent need of repair. Danse had no idea where Vera was - she’d disappeared into the maintenance room and a few minutes later, the lights had burst on, followed quickly by the swarms of synth bodies.

Speak of the devil - Vera appeared in the doorway, eyes wide. “You have to get out of there!” she shouted, then ducked behind the door frame to avoid the synth lasers.

“Why?” Danse yelled.

It took a moment for the synths to clear enough for Vera to poke her head back out of cover. “I started an engine test!”

Danse felt his eyes go wide. He looked up at the engine above him, then to Vera’s terrified face. Overhead, the countdown reached one. “Shit!” Vera yelped, then she was ducking back around the corner as the room turned blisteringly hot. The force of the heat was enough to send Danse staggering to his knees, and the flames hadn’t even _started._ His power armor should protect him, but -

He didn’t even have time to finish his thought as the room exploded into scorching heat. The remaining synths vaporized, cooked by the blue-white fire of the jet. Breath was sucked out of his lungs, invaded by the heat. The eyes of his helmet clouded over as the outer layer of glass burned. Danse’s HUD screeched at him, beeping shrill warnings about armor state, internal wirings, onboard computer. The fusion core meter at the bottom of the HUD flashed, warning of overheating. If he’d been standing right below the jet, there was no doubt that he’d be dead. Even at the edge of the room, his power armor was close to failing. As suddenly as it started, the jet sputtered and died.

Danse gasped in a breath. The hot air tasted like ozone. His fingers tightened on the charred ground. The seal on his helmet creaked as someone’s fingers released the latch. Vera eased the helmet up over his head, discarding it on the ground with a clatter. 

“Oh my god,” she cried, and her hands were his face. The pads of her fingers were unbearably cool against his flushed skin. The contact was grating. “Are you okay?” 

It took a minute for Danse to find his voice. “Got cooked by those flames,” he managed. “Power armor took the brunt of it. I should be fine.” Reaching up, Danse grabbed the hood holding his hair down and pulled it off, holding in a gasp of relief as cool hair hit his neck. He still couldn’t get up; he was worried that the joints in his armor had melted closed. Vera handed him a can of water she’d pulled from her bag. Danse poured half of it on his face. 

It took a good long while for Danse to stop feeling like he was going to keel over. Vera’s nervous hovering didn’t help, but he didn’t have the strength to try and reprimand her. Danse’s armor joints creaked in protest when he finally stood. He shot a rueful glance at his ruined helmet and the burned brown-black eye slits stared back at him. He sighed. 

Turning to Vera, he was surprised to find that he eyes were watery. “I’m sorry!” she burst out. “I panicked! I knew that if they were killing you, they would kill me, so I just pushed the button.” 

“It’s fine,” Danse said, too bewildered by her tears and sudden rush of earnest emotions to be truly mad. He held out a one hand. “Let me see your hand.” 

Vera cocked her head. Almost tentatively, she held out her palm. Danse pulled off the fingerless glove as best he could. Shiny, angry red welts were raised on her fingers and the pads of her palms. “Burned myself taking your helmet off,” she explained, fingers flexing tentatively. “Honestly, it’s the least I deserve.”

“I’m fine,” he assured her again even though he felt like he was melting inside his suit. “We can stop for a minute. Wrap some bandages around the burns.” 

It was a testament to how shaken she was that she didn’t even argue. While Vera was crouched in the corner treating to the burns, Danse stepped outside his armor and almost slumped against the ground. He took a steadying breath, fingers pressing into his gloved palms. He was tempted to take another bottle of water from Vera - no doubt she would gladly give it up - but he’d already said he was fine. Instead, he focused on the state of his armor.

It was fucked, in a word. The plates were charred and warped on the back. The steel was probably brittle and weak now. He’d need an entirely new torso piece - maybe an entire frame, depending on how much the heat had warped his. It was a miracle the fusion core hadn’t exploded from the extreme heat. If it had, they’d probably both be dead. Danse bit back a groan. Vera appeared back at his side, fingers now bandaged. Her eyes were remorseful as she stared at the blackened steel of his armor.

“Sorry,” she said again.

“Would you believe me if I said I’d had worse?” 

She smiled weakly at his attempt at a joke. “Not really, but I’ll take your word for it.” 

“Live and let learn,” Danse said, popping open the back of his armor, grimacing at the clunky grinding of half melted joints. The pervasive heat inside had dissipated somewhat, but it still wasn’t comfortable. Vera shouldered her bag and they set off again. Hopefully the synths were mostly gone, or else they were going to have a bad time. At least the elevators were working now and they didn’t have to find an alternate route. 

Danse closed his eyes as the elevators began their clunky ascent. Vera kept shooting him apologetic glances, twisting her hands in the strap of her rifle sling. “I’ll look for the transmitter,” she said, hurrying out of the elevator as soon as the doors slid open on their rusty tracks. It was a short walk up the stairs and down the hall to the next lab, but Danse’s armor joints ground the whole way. Vera’s shoulders hunched with every step. More than once, Danse caught her throwing a guilty look over her shoulder. 

The last lab was a lot like the last few had been, but this time there was the added benefits of no synths Probably a good thing considering Danse’s armor wouldn’t hold up to sustained fire. Synth corpses littered the floor, but Danse didn’t know how they’d been killed. He probably should have been more concerned about it. Danse kept watch as Vera rummaged around the two levels for the transmitter.   
“Aha!” she said, metal clattering as she heaved a synth frame up and off the floor. She popped up above the railing, transmitter in hand. “Found it.” 

It was smaller than Danse thought. In Vera’s hands, it was probably no bigger than a breadbox. Tucking it under one arm, Vera descended to his level. “Let’s take the service elevator to the surface,” Danse said. 

It took everything he had in him not to sigh as the elevator took them up and out of ArcJet. It had only been an hour, but it had felt like one of the longest missions in his career. As the doors opened, morning sunlight poured through the open doors in the bunker. Danse put a hand out to halt Vera and stepped in front of her, rifle at the ready. 

Only once he was certain there was no immediate danger did he say, “Alright, move out. The bunker looks clear.” 

Vera stepped out into the sunlight and stuck two fingers in her mouth. A piercing whistle broke the air and Danse winced. A moment later, the grass around the bunker rustled and Dogmeat came bounding towards them, tongue lolling.

“Well,” Danse said, watching as Vera ruffed Dogmeat behind the ears. “That could’ve gone smoother, but mission accomplished.”

“I thought we did alright,” Vera said. Her eyes flicked down across his charred armor. “Mostly.” 

“We’re both alive and the transmitter had been secured. There’s no reason to scrutinize the details.” 

“We worked well as a team, at least.” 

Danse nodded. “It’s refreshing to work with a civilian who can follow orders,” he said and Vera’s smile dropped. She bristled a little, but Danse continued on unaware. “That being said, there are two orders of business to attend to. If you’ll give me the transmitter, I’d like to compensate you for your assistance.” 

Vera passed it over. “I thought you said you didn’t hire mercs?” she asked as Danse took the transmitter.

“We don’t,” Danse said. “But I wouldn’t feel right about not rewarding you. You did save us, afterall.” His gauntleted hands passed over Righteous Authority one last time. The rifle was well worn, grooves pressed into the metal where his fingers fit. It would be suitable payment. He held it out to Vera. “You ought to find this serviceable,” he said as Vera’s eyes widened. “It’s my own personal modification of the standard issue laser rifle.” 

“Don’t you need this?” she asked, a little incredulously.

“I have more than one weapon at my disposal.” 

Vera hefted the rifle uncertainly, fingers lingering on the name engraved on the barrel. “Thanks,” she said, holding it a way that made it very clear to Danse she had no idea how to use a laser rifle.

“Onto the second matter.” Danse looked Vera up and down. “What do you think of joining the Brotherhood?” 

An abrupt laugh left Vera’s mouth. “That’s funny.” At his serious expression, she sobered, eyes widening. “Wait, are you serious?” 

It was something he’d thought about during their mission. Danse had been watching her closely, evaluating her skills. They were rough and unrefined, but the potential was there. “Why not? You’re smart and quick on your feet. You fought well under pressure; you would be an excellent addition to our ranks.” 

“I don’t think you want people like me running around your military,” Vera said, grinning. She pointed at him, finger making circles over his charred chestplate. “I almost killed you.”

Danse flashed a tired smiled. “We would have to work on not doing that again,” he said. “What do you say?” 

“I’m going to have to pass on this one, Paladin.” Vera shook her head, shrugging apologetically. “I’ve got obligations. I can’t be tied down with military responsibility.” 

Danse nodded. He understood, but it was a shame - the Brotherhood lifestyle wasn’t for anyone. “Can I at least escort you back to the police station?” 

Vera turned to the side, gesturing down the road. “Lead the way.” 

They set off down the road. Danse was eager to return to the police station. With any luck, Haylen would fix up their transmitter and they could finally broadcast to the Capital Wasteland. They would finally have the backup they needed - hopefully before they were in another life threatening situation. While they wouldn’t likely send in the cavalry, they would at least send enough reinforcements to secure a stronghold in the Commonwealth or escort everyone safely home. 

He’d likely never see Vera again unless she decided to join the Brotherhood. But really, what kind of loss was that? You can’t mourn someone you knew for less than a collective twenty four hours, and Vera seemed dead set on getting away as soon as she was able. He half expected her to fall behind and slip away before they made it back to the ruins, but Vera stayed firmly by his side.

Their walk back to the police station was a calm and quiet one. Neither of them spoke - what was there to say? Their mission was over and neither of them had died. Nobody was seriously injured, either, unless Danse counted his power armor. If he believed in a thing like fate, he’d think it was smiling on them. When they came in sight of Cambridge and the ground under their feet changed from grass to cracked pavement, Vera stopped. 

“This ought to be where we part ways,” she said, shouldering Righteous Authority. It was strange to see his rifle in the hands of someone else. She smiled wryly. “I’ll save your soldiers from having to deal with more of me.” 

“You’re probably right.” Danse held out a hand. Vera glanced down and a small smile lifted her lips as she took his offered gauntlet. Her hand was tiny in his grip; Danse was careful not to squeeze until Vera’s hand slipped out of his. “Good luck out there on your own. If you ever change your mind, you know where we’ll be.” 

Vera smiled. “The same to you, Paladin. I’ll see you around.” 

She turned and began to head into the shadows of the city, shepherd trotting faithfully at her side. Just before she disappeared around a bend, she turned and looked back at him. Danse lifted a hand in farewell. From this distance, he wasn’t sure if Vera smiled, but her hand raised as well. Then she was gone. 

Danse shook his head and turned to make the short walk back to the police station. He sighed in relief when it came into view, half surprised to see it still standing. Haylen appeared in the doorway as soon as he cleared the perimeter, eyes wide. 

“Oh my god,” she cried, running down the steps. Rhys was behind her, leaning on the wall in pain, but his eyebrows were furrowed in concern. “What happened to you?”

“Our friend happened.” Danse continued up the steps until he was inside. In the first available space, he disengaged his armor and slumped out of it. It creaked ominously. He probably wouldn’t be wearing it again until it could be fixed. 

Rhys made a noise from where he was leaning. “I knew she was dangerous,” he said. His eyebrows pulled together. Glancing around, he asked, “Where is she, anyway?” 

“She left. You shouldn’t be too harsh with her, Rhys.” Danse pried the transmitter from the locked gauntlet of his armor and handed it to Haylen. “She was instrumental in helping us retrieve the transmitter.” 

“Doesn’t mean I have to like her,” Rhys complained as Danse lowered himself onto a chair and let himself slump backwards. “I knew she’d just take our stuff and run. All wastelanders are the same.” 

Haylen looked up from where she was inspecting the transmitter. “I don’t know,” she said. “She seemed different.” 

Rhys frowned. “What do you mean?” 

Haylen shrugged. “I just don’t think we’ve seen the last of her, is all.” 

Danse ran a hand down his face and looked out the window to the streets of Cambridge. “No,” he agreed. “I don’t think we have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for sticking with me! i had a lot of fun writing this and im glad you all enjoyed enough to reach the end. 
> 
> don't expect the next few fics to come out quite so quick; i had all this all pre written and i was, frankly, eager to post. i have two solo fics in the works and a much longer one that will encompass the main story. keep an eye out for future additions if youre interested!

**Author's Note:**

> lyrics + title comes from the song Omen by mother mother
> 
> come talk to me on my blog at Fanthings! I'd love to chat.


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